


Unwanted.

by Ernst Robel (Enjolrataire)



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Gen, okay so trigger warnings for like depressing thoughts and suicide ideation, there's no death though so don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:53:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3184487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enjolrataire/pseuds/Ernst%20Robel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crippling, maddening depression. Moritz is lost, sinking, drowning, alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwanted.

Moritz was depressed.

 

This was stating the obvious. Whether you wanted to look at his struggling grades, his dark demeanour, the lack of light in his eyes, the dull drone of a tortured soul escaping him. Whichever way you looked at it, his disposition was less than friendly, not hostile but sad. He was carefree, almost, not as a soul unbound by human restriction, but more a tormented spirit in him convincing him that it just didn’t matter.

 

Nothing mattered.

 

Life didn’t matter.

 

School didn’t matter.

 

_He didn’t matter._

 

Carefree. That isn’t the word Moritz would pick to describe himself. It sounded too happy, too young. Carefree, that’s supposed to be happy-go-lucky, no cares in the world, joy beyond obstruction. And that’s not him. They call him carefree because he could be struck in a hit and run, he could be electrocuted on his way home, he could be shot in a spontaneous gang fight he stumbled into the middle of, and he just wouldn’t care. That’s _carefree_ to him, and that’s not happy.

 

And it is in this depressed state we see him now, curled up into a ball in the centre of his bed, another night of bitter, hopeless tears that won’t make a change. And he knows it, too. Crying won’t do shit. He won’t get anywhere sitting around and feeling sorry for himself. But what else can he do? He can’t confront his demons, not the ones who take the form of his friends. They don’t do it often, though he’s been seeing more of it lately. Cold rejection as they all conveniently can’t find time to see him, but as he sees them all make time for each other. He’s the complete reject at this point, and he will find every reason on this Earth to believe that it’s his fault. The ugly, ugly duckling who won’t live to see his years as a swan.  
What was the point, anyway? People are so set on telling you how it gets better, that you just need to find your people and that you’ll be okay, but what the hell are you supposed to do when ‘your people’ purposely abandon you because they realise that the depressed kid is no fucking fun? And what hurt him the most is the promises they made. ‘No, Moritz, I swear, it’s alright. You don’t have to be sorry for your feelings. We understand.’

 

Everyone gets depressed.

 

Everyone gets depressed.

 

_Everyone gets depressed._

 

But not like this.

 

This was a new, soul-crushing level of hopelessness. Any hope he’d gathered throughout the day had not only left him in his inevitable nightfall, but he couldn’t retain any positivity he’d tried to keep. He’d try to think some happy thought, and then he’d be met with disappointment. Met with hurt. Met with some voice in the back of his head screaming at him, telling him he deserved this desolate loneliness, telling him he didn’t deserve happiness, telling him this new disinterest with his friends would only get worse.

 

And he would end up alone.

 

And cry alone.

 

And die alone.

 

Because nobody wants to deal with him. Nobody wants to deal with his issues. And as far as he was concerned, he was becoming his issues. So, being nothing more than an illness no one wants to catch, what was there to look forward to? And he no doubt said some thing or another that made someone feel guilty, it was never on purpose but at times his loneliness reached out and pulled aggressively at those around him. And because he didn’t want to hurt anyone around him anymore, he might as well kindly remove himself from the situation.

 

He might as well go quietly. Maybe he’d just sink down into his despair, isolate his emotions from his rational mind, get it over with quick so he had no time to think it through, no time for his mind to clear itself of this clouded delusion. He’d thought of an escape often enough. Surely one plan or the other would work. But that required uncurling himself from the ball and stretching his pained, stiff muscles. It wouldn’t hurt him to stop crying and obstructing his vision, either. So up he sat, wiping at his tears with his hands and groaning at the sudden movement of muscles. He pulled his knees to his chest slowly with a few short, pained breaths. Was this really it? No goodbyes? And his friends out having fun with each other, fun they were too busy for to have with him, friends who couldn’t be in the right place at the right time to unveil some tiny flicker of hope.

 

Alone. Again. As always.

 

He shoved himself off his bed, legs trembling; unsure of what was coming next, only sure it had to come quick. His body shuddered as his feet met the ground and he wasn’t sure he could keep himself standing. He gripped at the bed supports, silently praying that he could do _just one thing right for once in his life, please._ Uneven breaths forced past his lips as his body continued its threat to give out on him, his legs shook badly now, and without another hushed breath he fell.

 

Can’t even fucking stand.

 

_Failure._

 

Again.

 

He pulled his knees back to his chest, sobs wracking through his body. He felt too pathetic to try again, felt like he would once again fail. And fail again. And fail again. And again and again and again, over and over just like he always did. His father was right. He was a failure and a disgrace and nothing more. He would never be anything more.  
And that was the thing that taunted him further until slowly, eventually, he fell asleep once again at that exact spot he fell, tear soaked cheeks and shaking hands prevailing to rest.

 

Death is a battle for another day.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't really even go over this I'm sorry, just a result of a dark night that I tried to make use of as a writing opportunity. So hopefully it didn't come out too badly (as I just say because I know I switched tenses a few times on accident, this isn't my usual style) and yeah, I hope it's all okay.


End file.
